


Sha(y)melessly Drunk

by LivaWilborg



Series: How to be a Templar [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed, Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin's Creed: Rogue, Forced Drunkenness, Harbour-chucking Deluxe, Interrogation, Traitoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 03:59:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9861557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivaWilborg/pseuds/LivaWilborg
Summary: After his meeting with the Grandmaster, and giving up every last bit of information on the Assassin network as he knows it, Shay the traitor is subjected to an alternative, alcohol-based form of interrogation by Charles Lee....Poor Shay.(...Poor Charles.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a writing-challenge with [Taera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taera/pseuds/Taera/works).  
> =D
> 
> Thank you to Aniphine for the beta! ^^

**Shay**

They had met in a private parlour on the second floor of the Dragon tavern. It had taken hours. The Grandmaster declared himself satisfied with the information and got up. Shay didn’t bother extending his hand. Nobody was likely to shake it.

Part of him was thankful it was over. This last betrayal. Another part of him was horrified he had gone through with it. He could have just shot himself so he wouldn’t have to commit this crime against everything he believed in. _Had_ believed in…

He had just delivered every Assassin contact and safe-haven he knew of, to the Templars. He might as well have murdered them himself. All these people who believed they were doing good. He felt sick at his own actions but didn’t know what else he could do.

“Trust is earned, Mister Cormac. As I’m sure you know.” the Grandmaster commented, looking him over sharply. Then he extended his hand and Shay saw the little hint of a smile in the corner of the man’s mouth, as though he knew exactly how poisonous it felt to accept this calculated kindness.

Shay forced himself to meet the man’s gaze when he took his hand, sealing his betrayal absolutely and irrevocably. Shaking hands with the Grandmaster of the Temple… His arms fell to his sides when he let go, and defeat burned his mind and heart.

“There’s nothing left for me to do now, Sir.” Shay said tonelessly.

“Don’t go playing with pistols just yet.” the Grandmaster stated. “I still have need of your knowledge and I won’t be stuck doing your dirty work. There are Assassins out there in need of a killing and you are the most qualified for the job. …I’m hoping this doesn’t come as a surprise.” he added, raising an eyebrow.

“Not really, Sir.” Shay said, fighting not to drown in the future his thoughts conjured. “As you say, trust is earned.” he concluded tonelessly and sat down by the table again before his knees gave way.

“Gratifying we see eye to eye in this.” Kenway stated. Shay looked up at him. The man was smiling. It unnerved him.

“You’ve gone a long way towards making me believe your sincerity. Your actions yesterday were quite convincing. And what you’ve given us today is also a step in the right direction.” The Grandmaster moved to stand behind Shay’s chair, put a hand on his shoulder and leaned down closer. “Master Lee, however, doesn’t have my trusting nature.” he explained. “So I leave you in his capable hands. Please do as he tells you.” The hand on Shay’s shoulder tightened in a quick squeeze before the Grandmaster straightened up and walked to the door. “Have a good night, Mister Cormac. I’m sure Charles will be here shortly.”

He left the door to the private parlour open when he left. Shay vaguely registered a noisy crowd in the taproom downstairs, but the sound in his mind was the screams of Lisbon’s victims. He listened to them intensely.

“It mustn’t happen again.” he whispered soundlessly. “I can’t let it happen again.”

 

o-0-o

 

**Charles**

Grandmaster Kenway was right. Of course. Before leaving the tavern he’d said: ‘I’ve never seen a man more ready to shoot himself.’ and then added as an afterthought: ‘If reasonably convenient, though, try not to let that happen.’.

As he regarded this Cormac character across the table, Charles wasn’t entirely certain he’d know how. Perhaps it _was_ just a very convincing act, though?

The man’s jacket was flung over the back of the chair he sat on and though his vest was buttoned, his shirt-sleeves were rolled up. As if he had been particular about showing off the fact that no knife hid there.

Cormac kept quiet, though he was obviously wary, puzzled, uncertain.

The serving-wench finally appeared with the dinner Charles had ordered, the glass of wine he intended to drink and the generous flagon of rum he intended for Cormac.

“You should eat. It gives you something to vomit up later.” Charles said, nodding at the plate in front of the former Assassin.

“Wha– I… don’t follow? What am I doing here?”

It was a guarded question, not an aggressive demand, Charles noted to himself. “Your actions are convincing. The Grandmaster told me. But we don’t know how convincing your truths and motivations are. I’m going to find out.”

“With… meat and potatoes?” Cormac nodded at the plate in front of him.

“No.” Charles pulled the stopper from the flagon and poured a cup of rum. Placed the cup in front of the former Assassin. “You’ll be so desperately drunk before long; any secrets you think you can keep will pour from you. …Oh, I do hope you didn’t have other plans tonight?” he added sarcastically and nodded at the cup.

“Other plans.” Cormac said emptily. He lifted the cup and drained it, unflinching. “Do you know some other traitors I could throw a shindig with?”

“I’m afraid not.” Charles took the cup and refilled it. “Here. Have another. Dull the pain.”

He was fairly certain the word Cormac mouthed silently before draining the cup was ‘bastard’.

They ate in silence. Below them, the tavern common room grew rowdier; a squeaky violin played a tune, laughter, broken song and shouted conversation drifted upwards. After the meal, Charles stuffed his pipe, poured a drink for Cormac and looked at his pocket watch. “One every ten minutes should do it, don’t you think? I think so.”

Cormac closed his fingers around the cup and sighed quietly. “Aren’t you worried I’ll stab you or strangle you? If I’m lying, what’s to stop me?”

“Your very expensive cover is to stop you.” Charles nodded at the cup and Cormac took a deep breath and drained it. “I understand you took quite a few lives yesterday…” Charles added.

“And still you don’t believe me.”

“The Grandmaster said five of your own died by your hand. Here, have another.” The cup was refilled. “So, tell me, why are you here?”

“Because the Templar D– the Grandmaster of the Colonial Rite told me to.”

“No, please, _do_ finish that sentence.”

“Sounds like something Kenway would say.” Cormac muttered under his breath.

“Hardly an insult. It earned you another drink, in fact.”

For a few seconds it seemed like Cormac was about to do something else than drink, but then he closed his eyes and controlled himself. He drained the cup and dutifully held it out for a refill.

“So, why are you here, Mister Cormac?”

“Because I’ve nowhere else to turn to; why isn’t that obvious!” the former Assassin snapped.

“How so?”

“Nobody else has the resources needed to stop the Assassins.”

“From doing what?”

Cormac looked up and found Charles’ gaze for the first time. He shook his head a little, looking lost, as if he didn’t know how to proceed.

“Stop them from doing what?” Charles repeated.

Cormac leaned his head back and studied the ceiling for a while, then he sighed: “Doing what they are going to do because they didn’t believe me either.”

Charles leaned back in his chair and nodded at the drink in Cormac’s hand: “It’s going to be a long night, isn’t it…”

 

o-0-o

_Hours later_

**Shay**

“So, tell me, why are you here?”

“Oh, Lord in bleeding Heaven!” Shay wasn’t even certain how long they had been doing this. He wasn’t certain how many times he’d told that stupid _bod_ that he had nowhere else to go. It was even beginning to bore him a little, hearing the words from his own lips, struggling against the rum-induced wobble of the world. He just cursed, didn’t he? Something about God, though not polite. He’d decided not to mention God, ever again.

“If I don’t mention Him...” Puzzled, Shay realised he’d spoken the words aloud.

Lee rapped the table with his knuckles to get his attention. “Mention who?” he demanded.

Shay closed his eyes and pulled himself together. “Just… Half a thought. God. Mention God. I failed.”

“Clarify.”

“If I don’t mention Him, I was thinking I could maybe …redeem myself, maybe, just a little, before He noticed me. But now I …I failed.” he explained and shook his head. The cup in front of him that Lee had just filled again – again, again – seemed to have a twin just next to it. He wasn’t quite sure which one to drink from. He closed one eye and they melted into one cup. Good, then. He could work with this. Since apparently that was required.

“You failed?” the moustache demanded. It seemed to be a question.

“Yes, now He noticed me. Stupid, anyhow. Like He ever forgot me after I sent a city-full of souls home. It’s all honey or all turd with Him, anyway.” His fingers found the cup and the liquor burned all the way down. “Not like I stand a chance. Forget I said it. Anything. Just… forget it. Doesn’t matter.”

Shay leaned slowly across the table and deposited the cup in front of Lee and his blurry doppelgänger. It was routine by now. “Ten. More. Minutes. And then I’ll tell you again why I’m here. This is the strangest interrogation. Why don’t you just beat me up?”

“I considered that. But I expect you’d be used to senseless violence.”

Shay shrugged.

“So why are you here?” Lee asked.

“Because it’s such a lovely tavern. _Great_ potatoes…” Shay rubbed his face and leaned back in the chair, when the door to the parlour was flung open. A grinning man – and his twin... Shay closed one eye and the twin vanished – stood in the doorway. Probably military, probably dodgy, definitely capable of starting, and finishing, a fight, though not an honourable one, Shay’s mind supplied on instinct through the fog.

“Oh, good grief.” the moustache sighed. “Odysseus…”

“Lee, the bird said you was ‘ere.”

Lee raised an eyebrow.

“She sings for a few coins, and spreads ‘em for a few more. My kind of woman, really.”

“It’s a private party, Hickey.” Lee stated.

“Nah, don’t worry. I’ll ‘elp. So, wot you doin’?” the newcomer asked and sat down. “Don’t you look dour, mate. ‘Ere, ‘ave another.” He reached for the rum-bottle and poured Shay a drink, shrugged, drained the cup, refilled it and put it in front of Shay.

“Why are you here, Hickey!” Lee said with a voice full of resentment.

The laugh escaped Shay’s lips before he could stop it: “Tell him you have nowhere else to go and he’ll keep pouring you drinks.”

The newcomer laughed loudly. “I ‘ave nowhere else to go. I’m off duty, see.”

Shay narrowed his eyes to see the moustache’s reaction. Lee gave them both an evaluating look. “Fine. But nobody leaves this room except to take a piss, is that clear!”

“Right, right, I can work with tha’, fer a drink or twenny. I can even take a piss in the fireplace or out the window if it’s tha’ important.” The newcomer held out a hand to Shay. “’Ere! I’m Thomas ‘Ickey.”

Concentrating his aim, Shay took the man’s hand: “Traitor of the Year.”

“Well, Mister Year…” Hickey laughed. “Tha big question is: do you play dice?”

 

o-0-o

 

**Charles**

Charles found himself quietly impressed. He looked at his watch. Far too many hours had passed for this to be healthy. How Cormac was even still sitting upright was something of a mystery.

True to form, Hickey had insisted on pissing in the fireplace between games of dice with Cormac, which had gone increasingly wrong. But he’d done what he was supposed to, and Cormac remained drunkenly adamant he was there because he had to stop the Assassins. At least Cormac was drunk enough not to care who he told.

“Mister Cormac!” Charles repeated, clapping his hands in exasperation to get the man's attention.

“…Hope you’re paying for this.” Cormac said, looking in Charles’ general direction before he managed to focus somewhat.

“I know. So why are you here?” he asked.

Cormac looked down at the table for a long while. “No.” he said. “No, no, I’m not… I’m not doing this anymore. Go fuck yourself sideways, I won’t play this stupid game. You want to know what happened. You want to know about Lisbon. You want me to tell you how many people I murdered.” he stated. There wasn’t a hint of a question in his speech.

“Do tell.”

Cormac didn’t seem to notice. “You want to know about the little boy half crushed under stones who was screaming for his mother as he died. The girl with the green dress whose face was a bloody mess of bone and brains. The running people who were buried by stones when a wall tore itself loose and the… the street that opened up like a maw…” he hauled himself to his feet, with both hands on the table to accomplish this feat. “…to swallow all the screaming innocents who were desperate to save themselves while _I_ ran past and saved my life like a fucking coward when I should have died with them. I could at least have died! Do you want to hear that?” his voice had been growing in volume. “Do you want to know that in my mind I hear it, constantly, the screaming, begging, horrified, dying voices no matter if I’m scratching my tallywags or killing people.” His breath was fast and heaving and the words seemed to fight to leave his lips. “I cannot ever escape my actions. There’s a just a hole where my soul used to be and not a second goes by where I don’t remember _exactly_ what I did. But I have to stop it from happening again.” He drew a long shuddering breath and almost fell sideways but righted himself.

“…Tallywags.” Hickey laughed softly and was ignored.

“I have to stop it from happening again. I don’t have any other choice.” Cormac finally managed, swallowing hard and gripping the table as though he was fighting a losing battle to pull himself together. “I don’t care if I have to beg. Don’t care who I have to murder or cheat or steal from. I can’t… I can’t let them do it again. Please just…” he sighed and leaned forward to put his forehead on the table. “Just shoot me. I don’t even care. But stop them.”

He stayed with his head on the table for long enough that Charles began to suspect he had passed out.

“Take a break, Lee. Stretch yer legs and whatnot.” Hickey commented after a while.

“I don’t need any whatnots stretched.”

Hickey gave a grin. “There’s still a bit a fight in ‘im, I’ll wager. When ‘ees ready to crash, I’ll let yer know.”

The former Assassin finally stirred and lifted his head, groaning.

“See.” Hickey commented smugly. “I’m a right genius ‘bout drinkin’”

 

o-0-o

_An hour later_

“So, did you learn anything useful?” Charles asked.

“Yeah, ‘ees sorry. Thinks ‘ees goin’ ter Hell, but don’t mind it. Says ‘ee deserves it.” He hefted Cormac’s arm around his shoulder more firmly as they carried the man. “You must’a poured ‘im some right good ones, ‘ees out like a–“

“I’m sure I don’t need to hear any comparison you can come up with.” Charles stated. Hickey laughed. “Thank you for the assistance, though.” he added.

“Nah, it’s fine. Big Man Haytham pays my tab at the Dragon ter help out, is part of tha’ deal, see. So no trouble. Besides, you did it yourself, I was just the background noise after all.”

“Still, I appreciated having troops in reserve, so to speak. He held out absurdly long.”

“Maybe ‘ees a real drunken sod?” Hickey suggested.

“Assassins are a lot of things, but I doubt alcoholics are among that.”

They made their way down the street in the darkness of the warm summer night, carrying the comatose former Assassin between them.

“So, considering your great knowledge of drunk human nature, did you believe him?” Charles asked after a moment.

“Yeah. Just plain luck ‘ee aint put a gun to ‘is fore‘ead yet. ‘Ee done some traitorin’ somewhere, that’s fer sure, and if not the white hoods, then ‘oo? So yeah, I think ‘ee wants ter play with us all genuine and unpretentiouslike.”

“An unusually long word. Well done, Odysseus.” Charles commented, almost grinning.

“Watch it, I aint ever chucked an army Captain in tha’ drink.” Hickey laughed. “And I’m collectin’, see.”

“You collect… throwing people in the harbo– No, don’t elaborate!”

Hickey laughed. “I enjoy the little things in life. Money. Cunt. Harbour-chuckin’.”

They stopped by the docks at the end of the road, with Cormac’s dead weight dragged between them. There were small trading-boats anchored along the docks but plenty of room for a drunk man to acquaint himself with the water.

“I’m only here to indulge your absurd suggestion because of generosity, is that clear!” Charles demanded.

“Clear as ink, mate!” Hickey stated. “So, you reckon ‘ee can swim?”

 

 

 


End file.
